"Think I've got something that will fit you. A young fellow who
worked on the trapeze fell off and broke a leg. He was just
about your size, and I guess his tights will be about right for
you. Not superstitious, are you?"

Phil assured her he was not.

"You will be, after you have been in the show business a while.
Wait, I'll get them."

Phil's eyes glowed as he saw her returning with a suit of bright
red tights, trunk and shirt to match.

"Oh, thank you ever so much."

"You're welcome. Have you a trunk to keep your stuff in?"

"No; I have only a bag."

"I've got a trunk in here that's not in use. If you want to drag
it over to the men's dressing tent you're welcome to it."

Phil soon had the trunk, which he hauled across the open paddock
to the place where the men were settling their belongings. He
espied Mr. Miaco, the head clown.

"Does it make any difference where I place my trunk, Mr. Miaco?"

"It does, my lad. The performers' trunks occupy exactly the same
position every day during the show year. I'll pick out a place